Sorrow All Around Me
by therearegreenerpastures
Summary: Love isn't always a good thing. Was originally a oneshot songfic...now I'm not sure what it is. Warning: AU, Suicide, General Sadness...typical AngstRomance stuff. HGDM. All right, so NOW it's complete.
1. Sorrow All Around Me

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any characters mentioned in the Harry Potter series. The lovely J.K. Rowling does. I do not own any lyrics used in this story. The band Flyleaf does. There. Now you can't sue me.

**A/N**: This story is a songfic based on the Flyleaf songs "Sorrow" and "All Around Me," hence the title.

* * *

**Sorrow All Around Me**

"Did you write this?" she asked, looking up at him from the parchment in her hands.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Why?"

He didn't answer her. Instead he pleaded with her through storm-grey eyes. "Sing it for me," he said. Actually, it sounded more like a gentle command. She cleared her throat; she had never sang for anyone, not even her friends, before.

"_Sorrow lasts through this night._

_I'll take this piece of you, and hold for all eternity._

_For just one second I felt whole,_

_as you flew right through me._

_And we kiss each other one more time._

_And sing this lie that's halfway mine. _

_The sword is slicing through the question_

_so I won't be fooled by his angel light._

_Sorrow lasts through this night._

_I'll take this piece of you, and hold for all eternity._

_For just one second I felt whole, _

_as you flew right through me,_

_and up into the stars._"

"It's beautiful," she breathed when she was done.

"Yes, beautiful," he sighed, looking into her eyes. She got the feeling he wasn't talking about the song, and it scared her.

"You were my inspiration," he said when she remained silent.

"Me?" she questioned. "Why me?"

"I envisioned you singing it when I wrote it," he told her.

A smile played behind her lips. "Oh you did, did you? Well, then I guess you wouldn't mind telling me who I'm singing about?"

He gave her a sad smile; a smile so sad that it broke her heart just looking at him. "Me."

* * *

From that day on, he began slipping her little notes and things. Almost always, it was a poem, or a piece of a song. He was quite the writer. She told him to stop on numerous occasions, afraid that her disapproving friends would see him leave the little slip of parchment on her desk one day, or see the secret smile that he would give her when they met in the hall. She also had to watch herself around her so-called "friends," for it would have been disastrous if they caught her staring at him during lunch, when he was laughing and being so carefree with his own friends.

* * *

"Why do you look so sad?" she asked him, kissing him lightly on his pale lips.

"It's just getting harder," he told her wearily. She could see it in his eyes; they appeared far too old to belong to a mere sixteen-year-old. He looked far too troubled. He should have been worrying about something normal: sports, girls, grades. Not this. Anything but this. "I just don't want my family to get hurt," he whispered into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You still have time," she whispered back. "It's not too late to stop this."

"But it is," he insisted. She pulled back from him, her mouth open to argue. He put a long pale finger to her lips. "Shh," he said. "Just kiss me. Help me forget for just a little while."

* * *

They walked hand-in-hand along the shore, the dark waters of the lake lapping at their feet, the moon shining brightly on them.

"They'll wonder why you aren't at their celebration," he pointed out to her.

"They'll get over it," she said, smiling at him reassuringly.

They walked in comfortable silence. She stole glances at him as they walked. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like, if he wasn't the way he was, and she wasn't friends with whom she was, and they could just be together without all the secrecy and the lies. Would life be any happier? Or were the secrets and lies what was keeping them from falling apart?

"It's almost time," he said, pulling her from her thoughts. "Promise me you'll move on when I'm gone."

"Don't talk like that!" she snapped. She couldn't stand it when he talked like that, like he wasn't going to survive. "We'll see each other again."

"That's highly unlikely," he said, taking her into his arms. Kissing her lightly, he sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. "You'll need to be getting back," he said quietly. "They're probably looking for you."

"What about you?" she asked, looking for an excuse not to leave him.

"I think I'll stay out here," he said. "I'm in the mood to write a song, I think."

* * *

It wasn't until breakfast the next morning that the terrible news reached her.

He was dead.

* * *

**Two Years Later**

"You always had to have the last word, didn't you?" she asked the cold headstone bitterly. "You arrogant, selfish prick. For once, why couldn't you just do as I asked you?"

She was angry. Angry at him for taking his own life. Angry at herself for the tears she bitterly wept because of him. Angry at others for forcing him to do this, for not understanding him the way she did.

It had been a year since the end of the war. Hardly anyone on the good side had died. At least, no one that she had cared about had died. Save for him. But then again, he wasn't really counted amongst them, was he? When she thought of the injustice of it all, she wanted to scream. She wanted to kill everyone who had ever hurt him, caused him any pain. If that included herself, so be it.

When she had asked to come here, people had been outraged. They had asked questions, raised allegations. Only one had understood. Only one had offered to go with her, to offer the kind of support only a friend could.

"You coming?"

"You go ahead, Ginny," Hermione Granger told her friend. "I just need a moment to say goodbye."

Ginny Weasley gave Hermione a fleeting hug. "I'll be waiting outside the gate," she told her, before walking away, huddled against the cold wind.

"Why did you do it, Draco?" Hermione questioned in a whisper. She looked up and for a fleeting moment, though she got a glimpse of a young man standing behind the gravestone, wearing black robes, with platinum blonde hair. _I'm losing my mind_. "Why'd you leave me like that?"

Hearing silence greet her question, she sank to her knees in the snow in front of the elaborate headstone that Narcissa Malfoy had insisted on putting up. Tears flowing silently, Hermione gave Draco the best goodbye she could think of.

"_And we kiss each other one more time._

_And sing this lie that's halfway mine. _

_The word is slicing through the question_

_so I won't be fooled by his angel light._

_Sorrow lasts through this night._

_I'll take this piece of you, and hold for all eternity._

_For just one second I felt whole, _

_as you flew right through me, _

_and up into the stars."_

Pulling her wand out of her jacket, she pointed at her temple. "Goodbye, Draco," she whispered. Taking a deep breath, she muttered, "_Avada Kedavra_." The piece of parchment she held clutched in her other hand fluttered down to rest upon the grave moments before she fell backwards into the snow.

Ginny had known what Hermione intended to do when she reached the cemetery. She hadn't tried to stop her. Ginny knew that Hermione's mind was made-up. The prejudice, the hate, the suicide...it all had forced Hermione to take her own life. Ginny sighed as she watched Hermione fall. Perhaps now she was with Draco somewhere, and she was finally happy.

Ginny walked over and stood above Hermione. She started to say goodbye when she noticed the little piece of parchment on the ground. Picking it up, she skimmed through it. There were tears in Ginny's eyes as she folded the parchment back up and set it on Draco's headstone.

"Goodbye, Hermione," Ginny whispered, walking away.

* * *

_To Draco:_

_I can feel you all around me_

_Thickening the air I'm breathing_

_Holding on to what I'm feeling_

_Savoring this heart that's healing_

_Take my hand_

_I give it to you_

_Now you owe me_

_All I am_

_You said you would never leave me_

_I believe you_

_I believe_

_I can feel you all around me_

_Thickening the air I'm breathing_

_Holding on to what I'm feeling_

_Savoring this heart _

_That will never heal _

_Love, Hermione_

_**Fin**_

_**

* * *

**_

**A/N:** This is like the saddest thing I've ever written. Honestly. I think I just brought myself to tears. Because I don't write stuff like this often, I'm asking you to please (please, please, please, please...) review. It would mean a lot to me. Thanks guys!

--The Witch and the Saint


	2. Perfect In Weakness

**Disclaimer:** All right, guys, you know the drill. I don't own these characters. J.K. Rowling does. I don't own these lyrics. Flyleaf does. Coolness. On with the story!

* * *

**Perfect In Weakness**

Ginny sobbed and wiped a tear away with the back of her hand as she went through the small trunk. The curtains were pulled on the window, and the only light came from two lone candles on the desk. With no one else in the room, Ginny supposed her imagination was getting away with her. After all, there wasn't anyone watching her so intensely that it made the hair on her arms stand up, was there? She turned. No, she didn't think so.

She turned back to the small trunk sitting beside her on the bed. Harry and Ron had been in there helping her earlier, but upon finding the trunk she had run them off. She didn't think Hermione would have wanted them to see what was in the trunk; the trunk Hermione simply called "Draco's Trunk." Hell, Ginny wasn't even sure if Harry and Ron knew about Hermione's one-year affair with Draco Malfoy. It was probably best if she didn't tell them. At least, not yet.

She found an old, leather-bound journal, and her blood ran cold. The journal gave her shivers; it looked almost identical to the diary of Tom Riddle that Ginny had tried so desperately to put out of her mind. Repressing all her old memories and reminding herself that she was doing this for Hermione, Ginny opened the journal.

It was an entire account of Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts. _Harry and Ron would probably like to have this, or see it, at least_, Ginny thought, reading. They would have especially enjoyed the entire month of September, where Hermione seemed to rant about Draco quite a lot, insulting him with words her friends had never heard comeout of her mouth. But by October, Hermione was, in a very logical and calculated way (_You'd think she wrote it just to have someone else read it! _Ginny thought, exasperated) dealing with the fact that she may have liked Malfoy.

By Halloween, they were dating.

"Maybe Harry and Ron _shouldn't_ see this," Ginny said, putting the journal aside. One day, she promised herself, she was going to read the whole thing. For Hermione.

And also, she was–she admitted–the tiniest bit curious.

After shuffling through a few bits of random nothings, she found a slightly yellowed piece of parchment dated early March, 1997.

_Just like Malfoy. Be a drama queen and kill yourself on the Ides of March, Draco._

"Mother of Merlin, not again," Ginny muttered. Looking at the parchment, she began to read--for the second time that day--a song sent from one dead lover to the other.

* * *

_To Hermione: _

_Sick of circling the same road  
Sick of bearing the guilt  
So open the windows to cool off  
And heat pours in instead_

_Perfect in weakness  
I'm only perfect in just your strength alone _

All my efforts to clean me  
Leave me putrid and filthy  
And how can you look at me  
When I can't stand myself

I'm tired to be honest  
I'm nobody

Perfect in weakness  
I'm only perfect in just your strength alone

Perfect in weakness  
I'm only running in just your strength alone

I tried to kill you  
You tried to save me

You save me

Perfect in weakness  
I'm only perfect in just your strength alone

Perfect in weakness  
I'm only running in just your strength alone

_Love, Draco_

_**Fin**_

_**

* * *

**_

**A/N: **I honestly didn't mean for "Sorrow All Around Me" to get another chapter added to it. But a reviewer, Schermionie, said they would be interested in hearing Draco's song (I'm assuming the one he tells her he's going to write by the lake...I can't think of another song besides that one...Sorry if that's not the one you mean). How can I refuse something from my reviewers? This is the best way I could think of to present Draco's song. Who knows? Maybe I could drag another chapter out of this incredibly sad thing.

--The Witch and the Saint


	3. There For You

**Disclaimer: **Hmm...don't own the characters or the lyrics. J.K. Rowling and Flyleaf do, respectively.

* * *

**There For You**

Ginny Weasley did not see herself as partial to emotional breakdowns. After all the things she had been through, you'd think she would have learned to deal with her emotions better. But here she was, and those same emotions she was supposed to have such good control over were running rampant and wild.

"Goodnight, Mum!" she called down the stairs before closing her bedroom door for the night. Hugging herself, she walked over to the small black trunk that was now in her possession. It had once been called "Draco's Trunk," but since its previous owner was no longer here to call it that, Ginny called it nothing. Just _the trunk_. She kneeled down and pushed the lid up; she never kept the trunk locked. Sitting on top of everything else in the trunk was a journal. Ginny had long since learned not to panic at the sight of the journal--it looked almost exactly like the one possessed by Tom Riddle's memory that had, well, possessed her all those years ago. But it wasn't Riddle's diary.

It was Hermione Granger's.

Ginny took the book and walked back over to the bed with it clutched to her chest. She settled under the covers, and then opened it to the marked page. Ginny had made a promise to herself that one day she would read the entire journal, in memory of her fallen friend. It had taken four months for Ginny to work up the courage to even look at the journal again, much less read it. Now, eight months after Hermione's death, and Ginny had read four months worth of entries. She read one every night before she went to bed. Sometimes (not that she would ever admit it) she talked to Hermione. If she concentrated, she could almost pretend Hermione was talking back.

"January 5, 1997," Ginny read out loud to herself, looking down at the faded words written in delicate script.

_I'm worried about Draco. He looks terrible--I know he hasn't slept in weeks. Bags under his eyes. So thin his bones are showing. Even his hair (oh, that glorious hair!) is suffering; it's not so much platinum blonde now as dull yellow. Does anyone else besides me notice these changes in him? What about his so-called friends? Do they even care? Is there anyone in this world who cares about what happens to him? Oh, what a bloody silly question. Of course no one cares about him. Even I can still admit he's not been the kindest of souls I've ever met. But once you get to know him _("There she goes, writing as if she intended someone else to read it," Ginny muttered) _he's really not that bad. He did write me a song today, which was surprising as I didn't even know he could write...well, anything. It was so beautiful, yet so hauntingly sad. He said he had written it, envisioning me singing it. When I asked him who I was singing about, he told me I was singing about him. I can admit to you that I cried. Then afterwards we, well, I don't think I really need to write that part down _("Mother of Merlin!" Ginny let out a strangled cry). _Well, the other girls are coming in so I'll be leaving. Goodnight._

Ginny closed the book gently, placing her bookmark back inside before she did so. The bookmark she had been using for the past few months was none other than the folded piece of parchment which held Draco's Suicide Song, as she called it. Call her crazy, but she thought it had been kind of fitting. As she did every night, Ginny placed the journal under her pillow--she placed it under her pillow every night and then each morning before she got dressed she would place it back in the trunk.

Unlike most nights, Ginny did not turn over and go to sleep after putting the journal under her pillow. She sat up in bed, staring blankly at the wall but not really seeing it. She was thinking of her best friend--Hermione Granger--who was dead and buried. And why? Because she had fallen in love? Because there had been injustice in the world? As the first few tears slipped down her cheeks Ginny couldn't help but wonder that maybe, if she had been a more attentive friend, Hermione might still be alive. She wanted to tell herself that the very thought was absurd, but was it really? Maybe Hermione had been afraid to talk with Ginny. Afraid she would shun her like Harry or Ron would've. Afraid that she would judge her for falling in love with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Ginny didn't truly think she would have done any of those things. If Hermione had needed to talk, she would have listened. That's what friends were there for--they helped you through the hard things. Maybe if Draco had been more willing to talk, he would still be alive. Maybe if Hermione had been more willing to talk, she would still be alive. The tears flowed freely now from Ginny's eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand but they were just replaced by more.

Ginny wished there was just some way for her to tell Hermione all this. She just wanted Hermione to know that anything she could have ever needed, Ginny could have given her. She wanted her best friend to know that no matter what, Ginny had always been there for her.

And as she cried, her face buried in her hands, the perfect idea came to mind. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Ginny jumped out of bed, went over to her desk, sat down, and started to write.

* * *

Ginny made the trip to the cemetery in silence. Both Harry and Ron had offered to go with her, but she had declined. This was one trip, one promise, she had to make alone. She Apparated outside the cemetery, and then slowly trudged through the gate. She was almost...apprehensive wasn't the exact word she was looking for, but it was almost an apprehensive feeling that she took with her. She hadn't been to this cemetery for eight months, not since they had buried Hermione. 

She knelt in front of the headstone that stood a good ten meters away from Draco's. She made a vow to have the graves moved so that they could rest beside each other. Ginny took a piece of parchment from her coat pocket and unfolded it, laying it on the ground in front of the headstone and putting a rock on it so it wouldn't blow away. "It's really goodbye this time," she whispered, kissing her palm and then pressing her hand against the headstone.

She stood and walked away then, not seeing the nearly-transparent, bushy-haired phantom that smiled as she left. Nor did she see the tall, platinum blonde that held the other's ghostly hand.

* * *

_To Hermione:_

_Sometimes I'm a selfish fake  
__You're always a true friend  
__And I don't deserve you  
__Because I'm not there for you  
__Please forgive me again_

_I wanna be there for you  
__Someone you can come to  
__I wanna be there for you  
__It runs deeper than my bones  
__I wanna be there for you  
__I wanna be there for you_

_Because I hear your whispered words  
__In your masterpiece beautiful  
__You speak the unspeakable, though  
__I love you, too_

_I wanna be there for you  
__Someone you can come to  
__I wanna be there for you  
__And be someone you can come to  
__The love runs deeper than my bones  
__And I  
__I wanna be there for you_

_Love, Ginny_

**_Fin_**

_

* * *

**A/N**_

So I did say this story was finished, but I guess I lied. I dunno...I was listening to the song "There For You" (amazing song by Flyleaf, go listen if you haven't heard it) and this little bit just kind of came to me. I knew if I didn't type it up and post it I'd regret it forever, so I did. And this is what happened. So, review if you enjoyed. I guess you can still review if you didn't. I wrote it for me, anyways.

-Paige


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